[Hi, folks! I’m off on a little-deserved vacation around Austria and Slovenia, so please enjoy a series of guest posts from my rad internet friends! This one is from Andrea, who is a writer and a book designer in Cambridge, Mass. -Mia]
Spring in Boston is when readings start to pick up again, to my utter delight. The weather breaks, everyone comes out of hibernation, and I go to a reading about an ex-ballerina and a defector from the Soviet Union.
(Necklace: an artist in the South End Open Market in Boston. Shiny button on jacket: the Southern Review. Other items: probably Urban Outfitters, Target, H&M… who knows.)
Advice for book readings: Wear excellent but comfortable shoes; you cannot predict the popularity of an author and may be forced to stand in the children’s section. And perhaps you want to subtly alert in-the-know authors that you are a Reader and you know about such publications as the Southern Review. Or perhaps you just like trees?
Sometimes, a book might fall into my lap, and I discover the author is giving a reading in a few days. So even though it’s not my usual sort of book, I go in the hopes that a book about oddball book-lovers would mean a good reading.
(Top, vest, pants: the indistinguishable TJ Maxx/Marshall’s conglomerate. Beat-up boots: Target. Rings: a gift from my mother in high school and their origin is a mystery to me.)
Unfortunately, the reading is not so much a “reading” as it is an “author chatting about publishing and booksellers, reading approximately two paragraphs from her book”; that is not what I signed up for, so I (gasp!) leave during the Q&A.
There’s always another reading next week, after all.